


Grief

by cheerfulparadigm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Could be read as not johnlock, Five Stages of Grief, Grieving, Grieving John, I have got to come up with better titles, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerfulparadigm/pseuds/cheerfulparadigm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My best friend, Sherlock Holmes...is dead." </p>
<p>**<br/>(I was bored and wrote John during the 'five stages of grief'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief

• Denial •

"One more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock. Don't be...dead. Can you do that? Just for me? Just stop this. Stop it!"

Sherlock wasn't a fake. Sherlock wasn't _dead_. He was too clever for that. One day Sherlock would just come waltzing into the flat, Belstaff coat flapping dramatically behind him, acting like he wasn't gone for a second. "Come on, John. Suicide? Me?" he'd say. "Jumping off of a building because I was a fake, how dull." He'd tell John how he pulled it off, how he fooled Moriarty and beat him at his own game. John would call him a cock, and then call him brilliant. Sherlock would smile that smile that only John got to see. "Angelo's?" he would ask. And everything would be back to normal.

• Anger •

_John. -GL_

_Look, mate, I'm sorry. I didn't expect any of this to happen. -GL_

_Come on, John, answer me. -GL_

John was pissed. At everything. He was pissed at fucking Donovan and Anderson. He was pissed at Greg Lestrade, who had been on Sherlock's side every time except the one time it mattered. He had known Sherlock for years. He had seen him in action. How could he believe for one _second_ that Sherlock was a fake, that it was all an act? Fuck him. Fuck the entire NSY.

He was pissed at Mycroft for giving Moriarty information on the little brother that he supposedly cared for.

John was pissed at Sherlock fucking Holmes too. For jumping off that damn building, and making him _watch_. For leaving him here alone. How dare he—how _dare_ he—take John and sweep him into his exciting, dangerous, wonderful life, give him the adventure he secretly craved, only to suddenly leave John on his own with only a flat too full of memories and an empty chair to stare at.

• Bargaining •

When John was dying in Afghanistan he pleaded to whatever deity was listening. "Please, God, let me live." And he lived.

When John was watching his best friend die on the pavement below St. Bart's he did it again. "Please, God, let Sherlock live." And he died.

No deal he made with any god could bring his detective back to him.

• Depression •

John felt so alone. The best man he had ever known killed himself while he had to watch, helpless, on the ground below. He was so alone and he owed Sherlock Holmes so much.

The doctor sighed as he stared around 221 B. It seemed too quiet now. No more violin music to wake him up at three in the morning. No more loud calls of "bored!" followed by John's gun being fired at the wall. No more eyeballs in the microwave or severed heads in the fridge. No more deductions. No more cases. None of it existed anymore. It all disappeared with Sherlock Holmes.

He clenched his left hand and let out a harsh breath through his nose. Stabs of grief shot through his heart as he sat in his chair, feeling too lonely, too empty.

• Acceptance •

"My best friend, Sherlock Holmes...is dead."

The curly-headed arsehole of a detective had been gone for a little over eight months. It still hurt. God, it still hurt. But John was coping. He was moving on. He had moved into his own flat about a month ago, and started back at the clinic a few weeks after.

"Glad to see you back, John," Sarah said with a soft smile.

John gave her a smile and a nod in return as he clocked in. He was about to turn away when a blonde woman caught his eye.

"Who's that," he asked Sarah. "I don't think I've seen her here before."

"That's our new nurse. Started here a few weeks before you came back. Why? Do you want to meet her?"

"If you're offering."

Sarah let out a chuckle and led them both to where the girl was sitting at a desk. "This is Doctor John Watson," she said before John could introduce himself. "He just started back."

The blonde's pretty face lit up with a smile. "I've heard about you. Hi, I'm Mary, Mary Morstan."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. So that happened. How'd you think it was? Good? Bad? Bearable? Let me know. uwu (Also, apologies if my portrayal of a grieving!John is not to your liking. Could you tell I got stuck on 'bargaining'?) 
> 
> As always, all mistakes are mine (though some of it might be autocorrect). 
> 
> *cough* You wanna check out my tumblr? ofbelstaffsandbowties *cough*


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